The Resilient North
by Desolate Heaven
Summary: The year is 2086. America's mind has vacated the premises, Europe is revamping imperialism, and peace is nothing but a silly ideal with the world so intent on swallowing itself whole. Rus/US, various other pairings.
1. A Constructive Breakfast

**Title:**The Resilient North  
**Summary:** The year is 2086. America's mind has vacated the premises, Europe is revamping Imperialism, and Peace is nothing but a silly ideal when the world is so intent on swallowing itself whole.  
**Rating: **T - M  
**Pairings:** Russia/America, CanadaxAmerica (Brotherly), various others are implied.  
**Warnings:** AU, Blood, Language, Violence, Bitter!Canada and Off-his-rocker!America

**A/N:** For all of you who've read my Road Trip fic and are waiting for an update I'm actually pretty much done with it and it should be posted soon. Anyway, this was actually something that I wrote for my own entertainment, but I decided that I liked the idea enough to post it. Before you read the story, I have some stuff (Which is my favorite thing to do when I develop AUs) that you might want to read through. It won't come in much until the next chapter, maybe.

**GNU (The Great Northern Union) or The Triumverate-** Headed by Russia, Canada, and what remains of the United States. It is the largest of the Ironclad Alliances and is currently in the middle of vicious hostilities with the UCE. Early on it was joined by the Baltic States as well as Poland, Belarus and Ukraine when the risk of forced dissolution by other nations became evident.

**UCE (The United Continent of Europe)-** Members include England, Germany, France, Italy, and Spain. Since it's inception it has dissolved smaller countries and is currently in control of the entire East Coast of the United States. Though they worked well together during the war, they haven't seen eye to eye since and have been constantly split with the decision of whether or not to continue where the war left off.

**EAA (The East Asian Alliance)-** Members include China, Japan, and Korea. Currently in control of the Hawaiian islands and has spent the last twenty years since the end of the Four Walls War pursuing a merger with the Mediterranean Triunity.

**MT (Mediterranean Triunity)-** Members include Turkey, Greece, and Egypt. Formed to avoid forced dissolution by the UCE. They have spent the last several decades trying to decide whether or not they should enter into a merger with the EAA.

**The District Liberation-** A group of American rebels operating within the UCE controlled East Coast and dedicated to liberating the District of Columbia from British control.

**Ironclad Alliances-** Just think of it as a marriage pact. Once the countries enter into one, they can't live by themselves.

* * *

The Bering State Building was not a, for lack of a better word, happy building. It was sleek, crafted to be salient and weaken the knees of all those that were not under it's protection. But it was artificial, just like the island that it rested on. And Canada had never liked it.

Especially not America's room. Because unlike every other inch of the Bering Building, America's room had no windows, because the sky made America sad.

"So, what I was saying is that we can... we can... _we need to_..." Both Canada and Russia watched quietly as America paced next to the breakfast table that the the three of them shared, drumming his fingers in the air like one does when preparing to pick up something that could crack if looked at wrong, his gait off-balance as his old injury pained him. He wasn't wearing Texas, which may have accounted for the way his sky-blue eyes didn't seem to fixate on anything that they should have, and his chest was beginning to heave.

America wasn't like he used to be. He didn't smile anymore, he didn't sleep. The only time Canada ever saw him outside was when he wandered Bering City with Russia, and even then he didn't like to go too far. He had simply never been the same since the Four Walls War, since his famed resilience was systematically made more and more worthless in the face of every blow to his pride. The biggest of which had been asking Russia to help him.

As the American made another round past where his two associates were seated, the Russian reached out and managed to halt the younger with two fingers through one of his belt loops. America froze, breath a little heavy, and looked over his shoulder. His rambling stopped instantly.

Russia stared at him for a moment.

"Sit, Alfred. Eat." The largest nation of the three pulled ever-so-slightly at the American's belt loop for emphasis to his commands. Knowing that what was about to happen was going to be the same as every morning had been for the last twenty years, Canada took another bite of his pancakes and continued to leaf through the documents that had been delivered the night before.

"I already ate." America didn't seem convinced by his own statement and as such didn't let his eyes leave Russia's face so that he wouldn't have to admit to the untouched bowl of soup. Russia smiled, faintly, not challenging, not intimidating-- tired and reminiscent. He gave America's belt loop another tug, sharper than before and enough to yank the blond down into the chair that he'd vacated.

"You have not touched your food. Soup is no good cold." America blinked rapidly at the bowl in front of him before turning back to the gray-blond Russian in the seat next to him. His skin looked clammy, his shoulders set too tense.

"But I-I'm--" The elder of the two butter-blonds' skin suddenly flared an unnatural color, his nose wrinkling with pain. Both Canada and Russia jumped away from the table as America convulsed, heaved and spat up several mouthfuls of blood into his soup. All three were silent for a moment as they all stared at the mess.

Canada looked at his brother, then to the large northern nation across from him (who seemed to be pondering what to do next), then back to his brother.

"The bombings again? Only hurting yourself can make something like that happen, like with your leg, Al." Canada ran a hand through his hair and scooted the stack of files away from the spatter of blood, bile and soup. America didn't seem inclined to move and was more interested in the slow diffusion of crimson through the dishwater green of his soiled breakfast. A little bit of saliva clung to his chin.

"M'okay, Matty... They just... The Liberation just had another raid s'all..." He leaned down and licked the rim of the bowl clean. "... Just a few buildings s'all..."

"Pitiful.**"** Russia took America's chin roughly, wiping away the blood and saliva with the hem of his sleeve. America let him, but his shoulders, neck and jaw locked in such a way that it was obvious he did not particularly want to be treated in such away. "Your rebels will kill you before England even considers leaving your lands."

Canada grabbed the bowl and set it at the other end of the table. America said nothing to Russia that would clarify his opinion, he just stood back up and wandered aimlessly out of the room like a drunkard that had lost count of how many streetlights were between the bar and home. The other two watched him go.

"It's a dark fucking day when _this_ is one of his good days." Canada mumbled, seating himself once again.

Russia said nothing.

* * *

Switzerland felt it-- his house shake on it's foundations. He leaned his head against the wall behind him, loaded another bullet into his rifle.

Lichtenstein had been killed a long time ago, dissolved and incorporated into the other nations, but for some reason he felt like it had just been the day before. His own house was overrun and he couldn't fight them off anymore. And he'd forgotten how it had all started. A body struck his front door with full intent to break it down.

"Vash! We need to talk to you!" He ignored England's voice. Ignored Austria's after that. "Don't be like this Switzerland!"

Another strike at the door and it splintered. He wasn't going to make it out of this one.

_Oh well._

The door burst open. Switzerland fired.


	2. Into the Heath Part I

**December 10; 12:45 A.M.; Somewhere in New England**

"_Switzerland ha--_" England's image flickered on the small screen, his sandbar-colored hair the only thing able to remain distinguishable amongst the static. "_--lved_."

The four figures huddled closer around the back of the truck where the device had been situated, all trying to sink themselves deep into their thick coats to avoid the snow that was falling heavily from the sky. There wasn't much wind, but the precipitation had already settled a foot deep and it had been years since the last person had felt that there was still a need to plow so far from the major cities. Unused little highways like the one they were currently milling about on didn't matter anymore, not to them, and the locals certainly weren't going to be provided with the funds to clear the roads themselves.

"You will have to repeat yourself, _mon ami_. This blizzard is killing the transmission." Said the figure at the front, thoroughly frustrated with the tangled state his hair had been flung into because of the moisture clinging to it. The figure behind the first, the tallest and most rigid in posture, crossed his arms over his chest. Stern blue eyes cast a glance at the soldiers ambling around under the light of a broken street lamp, counting quickly to make sure none had wandered.

England sighed.

"_Switzerland has been dissolved._" The four figures said nothing in response, that solemn stillness of something expected but forever regretted. The European on the screen continued, the feed jerking like a bad reel of film. "_His house is-- process of bei-- divided accordingly_."

"Then you'll be coming back here soon? We shouldn't be here doing what you were tasked with doing." The stern figure—Germany, his voice was somewhat disdainful whether he'd intended it to be or not. Behind Germany and France, both the South and North of Italy stood idly, studying the sad skeletons of the trees.

"_I will be on-- next ship. You can all return home when I do. It isn't my fault that I had business to attend to here._"

* * *

Feliciano was only half listening. He didn't have to think hard or pay attention too much to know that another of their kind was dead and he was, in part, responsible. He also didn't need to voice his opinion on the matter to know who agreed with him and who thought he should keep his mouth shut for the better.

Lovino, standing next to him with his hands shoved in his pockets, seemed, in his own way, to be thinking the same. What surprised the younger of the Italians though, was when his brother turned to him with a sour expression and asked-- in a voice that did not match the aforementioned expression-- "Did we... _need_ his house?"

Feliciano quietly scanned the dark road that they had come from, the footprints and tire tracks already being swallowed by the fresh snowfall. This part of America's house was so barren... nowadays.

"No. I don't think we really did." Was all he could come up with. Whatever he had been thinking was confirmed and Lovino looked back at the dormant trees. Feliciano found himself doing the same, though he was, instead, watching the traces of their journey silently be erased. The chatter near the truck ceased to interest him even slightly.

"Hey, Feliciano..." The younger Italian perked up at his brother's hushed voice. "What's... what's that over there? Are those people?"

Two sets of sepia orbs were suddenly both fixated on the desolate gloom amongst the trees while two sets of blue were still fixated on the flickering screen. The darkness shifted-- in that certain way.

People. There _were_ people. And they were moving something.

"Ve... I see them." He didn't know why he was keeping his voice down or why he huddled closer to the Southern Italian to further diminish his chances of being heard. "They aren't any of ours... or Germany's, or..."

"Then they're Americans. Right?" Lovino took a tentative step forward before stopping abruptly and looking at the two blond countries still conversing quietly with the third. In front of the truck, several of the soldiers-- the Italian soldiers-- appeared to have perked up with the sudden activity of their respected nations. "What're they doing out in the middle of a blizzard-- in the middle of the woods?"

"...Hunting?"

"In a _blizzard_?" He moved off of the road and closer to the tree-line and Feliciano hoped that he was just trying to get a closer look.

"A-America likes hunting-- Lovino, what're you thinking?"

South Italy stopped and looked at his little brother.

"We have restrictions remember? And curfews. We should go and see what they're doing."

North Italy didn't get a chance to agree, to respond. He just saw a look in his older brother's eyes and then they'd both taken off towards the figures in the woods.

And those figures fled like they'd been waiting for the bait to be taken.

* * *

**A/N:** The next part shouldn't take too long to get posted, I just thought the flow got weird because it'd jumped around like it should be some Rus/US in the next chapter. I have a scene planned-- as well as an appearence by the EAA in coming chapters (I'm hoping to increase chapter length too). Also, do you guys like the weird fabricated!History and totally-made-up!Vocab snippets or would you like me to kindly quit it?

Tell me what you think~


End file.
